


The Rest Of Times

by zvzam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, I promise I won't hurt them, Light Angst, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Minor Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi, Piercer Shimizu Kiyoko, Punk Yamaguchi Tadashi, Shimizu Kiyoko-centric, Slow Burn, Student Yachi Hitoka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvzam/pseuds/zvzam
Summary: There’s a girl at Kiyoko’s door, holding out a bowl of cookies like a peace offering. Something about the way her mouth curls into a helpless smile makes Kiyoko want to poke her nose in her business, even if she hasn’t let her guard down around new people for years.I wanted to give them the love story they diserve, so here it is.
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Kudos: 10





	1. First and Second

**Author's Note:**

> Please, keep in mind that I am not a native speaker. English is my second language, so if you find anything odd about my writing, feel free to point it out. I'll try not to take it too personally.

When Kiyoko sees the girl for the first time, she doesn’t really acknowledge her.

Kiyoko is in a hurry, or maybe she tells herself that she is. Either way, she doesn’t have the time or the right mind to stop for a second and talk to the girl. Or even have a good look. Kiyoko leaves her on the stairway in the apartment complex and bolts out the front door. Later that day she isn’t even sure the girl wasn’t a product of her sleep-deprived brain.

Kiyoko runs to the train station. The distance is relatively short and she’s too scared of being late to notice any ache spreading through her legs. The train doors are still open when she gets to the station with her bag hanging just above the ground and her shoelaces untied. She pushes her glasses up her nose and gets on the train with a sigh of relief.

It’s not that she couldn’t be late. Her boss for sure wouldn’t mind, being her high school friend and all. Suga is pretty chill when it comes to his tattoo/piercing studio. Actually, Kiyoko can’t think of one thing he isn’t chill about. He faces everything with a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye Kiyoko can only describe as concern.

She just isn’t like that. She’s never late and she has a reputation to maintain.

The train leaves the station on time and she can finally breathe again. She glances around, taking in the free seats scattered between some old ladies and suspiciously looking men. She decides to stand rather than sit down.

The city on the other side of the window is already wide awake. It’s past eleven a.m., an unconventional time to go to work. Everybody should be there by now, but Kiyoko enjoys the comfort of working at a place opening at noon. Suga thinks that people wouldn’t come any earlier.

“Hey, pretty girl,” a guy to her left says, “where are you headed at this hour? Had a rough night?”

Her heart rises to her throat when she looks at him. His obviously dyed hair falls into his eyes, his height compensates for his lanky posture. He doesn’t seem dangerous, not really. More like one of the show offs she met during her years as a volleyball team manager. There’s a glimpse of metal in his mouth when he speaks. Kiyoko knows a tongue piercing when she sees one.

“Do we know each other?” she decides to ask, cause answering the guy doesn’t seem like the best option.

His puzzled face speaks for himself. He has no idea who she is.

“Why, wanna get to know me better?”

The urge to run for her life is tempting. Instead, she responds, “Sorry, I’m not looking for new acquaintances.”

“Such a difficult word for a friend. Or you wanna be something more?” he ads with a wink.

She bites her lips and shakes her head. Is there a way out of this situation? She hates getting that kind of attention from boys, especially the persistent and crude ones. This guy falls into both categories somehow. She’s ready to get as far away as possible, but a voice announces her station and she’s out of the train before she can say anything else.

“Gonna see you here later, right?” He adds before the doors close and that leaves Kiyoko mortified as she hasn’t deemed him to try again. Ever.

Her looks are a curse and a blessing, something to be proud of and to hide behind curtains of hair on her face. Pretty. Gorgeous. Beautiful. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate some admiration. The problem is, it always comes in a package deal. And the people always want more from her than she’s willing to give.

She picks up a steady pace, leveling her breathing to the sound of traffic. It’s nothing, she tells herself. Just another douche trying to prove something. She will laugh about it in no time. She won’t remember it tomorrow. The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

‘Crow’s Claw’ is a rather small place, tucked between a cafe and a bookstore. Kiyoko gave one of the baristas a free helix piercing, in return he makes her coffees twice as strong free of charge. The punk image suits the kid, even if he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Last time she met him, his hair was split-dyed, half green and half platinum blond. He doesn’t strike her as a courageous person, though. She suppresses the thought that maybe it isn’t about his courage, but about her own cowardice.

He’s there when she passes their window, a genuine smile plastered on his face as he takes someone’s order. His eyes are focused on the customer, he doesn’t look Kiyoko’s way.

“Hey, Shimizu,” Suga says when she enters the studio. “You’re on time”

She needs the reassurance to finally let herself relax. Suga knows her well, knows what to say. She collapses on the couch, the one Suga introduced as the ‘customer couch’. Vibrant orange cushions and black blankets. There’s a stack of magazines nobody ever reads on the coffee table. Her eyes dart to the entrance door, like she expects someone to come through it.

Not someone. That creep from the train.

“Are you all right?”

Suga’s smile is almost shy, like he’s afraid of scaring her. He crouches to her level, puts his hands on his knees and waits. Kiyoko hums and nods her head without much conviction.

“I will be,” she assures him. “It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing if it made you so upset,” Suga insisted, “You can tell me anything, Shimizu. I mean it”

She tries to focus on the familiar setting. ‘Crow’s Claw’ is neat and bright and welcoming. Sun pools at Kiyoko’s feet on the tiled floor, dances around all the metal surfaces. Tapestries hang from the white walls next to full-sized mirrors.

It shouldn’t bother her that much. Shouldn't have followed her all the way from the station, nestled in her head like a vivid memory.

“It was a guy on the train,” she decides to speak up, not sure if she’s doing the right thing. “He was just bothering me.”

“Bothering you? Like talking you into joining a cult or—“

Kiyoko finds it in herself to laugh, but soon realizes that Suga won’t buy any of it. She adds, “No, not like that. Does that kind of stuff even happen to real people?”

“Apparently not to you,” Suga replies, smiling wryly, “but there’s always some probability, so I’m not going to take any chances.”

He’s still crouching before her and this position has no right to be comfortable. He could sit beside her, could tower above her head, but he chooses not to. Suga looks up to Kiyoko, worry glistening in his eyes. He puts his hand palm-up, letting her decide whether she wants to take it. Of course, Suga is the most thoughtful person on earth.

“He startled me is all,” she insists. She intertwines her fingers with Suga’s, earning a sigh of relief from him. “Came out of nowhere and started asking me all those weird questions. He took me aback a bit, but he’s not here, right?”

“No, I wouldn’t let someone like that in here.”

“You wouldn’t know, Suga.”

Suga scrunches his nose, “You can tell from looking at them. Just like you can tell someone stinks.”

“You can?” Kiyoko asks, sinking into the couch. She feels a big weight lift from her gut.

“Obviously!” Suga states as if it was a well-known fact. “Those sketchy guys haven’t seen a shower since their moms forced them to take one before entering high school. They have it written across their foreheads.”

“Is that what you think about at work?” Kiyoko wonders, nudging him to stand up. “I’m fi— better now, Suga. Thank you. For calming me down.”

“That’s what I’m here for, you know. To keep you calm so you don’t pierce through some poor person’s skull and they don’t end up suing me.” Suga slips into the seat beside her, not letting go of her hand for even a second. She smiles at that.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she points out.

A small whine falls from his mouth.

“Yes, Shimizu, this is exactly what I do at work. I predict people’s smell as they enter my studio.”

“Did you do that to me? When you met me back in high school?”

“No, I would never do...” He catches a glance from Kiyoko and stops himself. “Okay, you’re right. I did, but I came to the conclusion you didn’t smell of anything but wildflowers.”

Kiyoko entangles their fingers and chuckles lightly. Her thoughts have already stopped revolving around the incident. Suga’s odd way of cheering her up is way more interesting than that.

“How about Daichi?”

“We are not having that conversation.”

“I want to know,” Kiyoko presses.

Suga claps his hands and rises up. He peeks at the analog clock above the counter and turns from Kiyoko. For a moment he appears lost in thought as he looks around the studio.

“We’re going to open soon, so I have to make sure of something,” he says.

Kiyoko watches him come up to the counter and check the planner, check it again and then lean over with his elbows on the table. A smug smile reaches his mouth.

“Better safe than sorry. I had to know Daichi won’t march through the door mid-story and scold me for telling you this.”

“Oh, so there is a story.”

“Of course there is one. Just not one that Daichi would want me to spread.”

Kiyoko giggles and Suga’s smile widens. He tucks his silver hair behind his ears, the tattoos underneath his sleeve showing. They’re a mess of black ink — flowers, animals, some quotes Kiyoko doesn’t know the meaning of and random objects spread across his pale skin. It suits him more than anything else would.

“You haven’t taken off your coat,” Suga says, “Let me take that from you.”

Kiyoko sheds the coat, her arms suddenly bare of any protection. She crosses them on her chest. A long-sleeved shirt is what she should have worn in the morning. Instead, she is left with a black T-shirt of a band whose concert she once got drugged to. She hands the coat to Suga with a bit of hesitation. He throws her a smile.

“Nice outfit!” he yells, entering the backroom. “I wish I could pull off that kind of pants.”

Kiyoko examines her flowy pants. Dark gray stripes end just above the floor where her worn-out shoes stick out from underneath the hem.

When Suga comes back, he settles down on the counter. Daichi would not appreciate that, but Daichi isn’t here.

“So you want the story,” he says.

“I do.”

“Who am I to refuse?”

Kiyoko’s hands lay on her thighs. They were trembling just a minute ago, but now they’re fine. Kiyoko’s fine, too. There have been better days, but it isn’t the worst, thanks to Suga.

“We have, like, twenty minutes before the man starts his shift” Suga announces, staring at the clock. “Where do I start?”

“I don’t know Suga, it’s your story.”

“Right, right. Daichi and I went to the same junior high, you know?” he asks and continues, when he gets a small nod from Kiyoko. “So that was on the first day of junior high. How old were we, seven?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re older entering junior high,” she interjects.

“Huh? Weird. Anyway, I see him from across the classroom, white shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck, and think to myself ‘That’s odd, he looks like he stinks and doesn’t stink at the same time’.”

Kiyoko bites her lip, a smirk showing on her face. Suga seems triumphant.

“And I had to know. I couldn’t leave it at that, that would be so unprofessional of me,” he says, his legs swaying like he’s sitting on a swing. “There was something off about him. The way he carried himself was nothing like any other kid I’d ever seen.”

“A great start.”

“I know! You can guess I went out of my way to get closer to him”

“You wanted to… smell him?” Kiyoko asks in disbelief.

Suga glares at her despite a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

“Yeah, that sums it up but it also makes me sound like the biggest creep.” He scratches his arm and squints. “Can you, please, don’t refer to it as smelling him? It was for research purposes.”

“Okay, Suga. I won’t.”

“You’re the sweetest. Back to the story,” Suga says, “Every time I tried to approach him, he ran away. Like, without an exception. He would rather sit with the kid that smelled for real than with me. Something was seriously wrong but I couldn’t put a finger on it.”

“Maybe you scared him,” Kiyoko suggests.

“Well, there was nothing more scary than the moment I saw him waiting for me in a dark alley after school.”

She snorts, which is nothing like her, but the image of a young Daichi jumping Suga in an alley is the funniest thing she’s heard in a while.

“Come on, don’t laugh. It’s not that— okay, it is funny. But it wasn’t to a seven year-old Suga whose arms were like noodles.”

“You weren’t seven years old, Suga.”

“Details. The point is, I was ready to shit my pants on the spot,” he says, a pained expression on his face. “Daichi’s appearance hasn’t changed much since then. He’s taller and more bulky but still scary nonetheless. If you don’t know him, that is.”

Yes, Kiyoko can agree with that. Daichi could come across as intimidating, especially with all the tattoos Suga left on his skin. There’s an ounce of truth in that, but he doesn’t want to be feared all the time. Only when it’s needed.

“I get it, Suga. You were the one being scared.”

Suga bumps his fists and scrunches his face. There’s a glint of pride in his brown eyes, hurt pride to be exact. Even if Daichi is two times larger than him, Suga isn’t fond of the fact that he could get beat up by him without much effort.

“Thank you, Shimizu, I was starting to forget that part,” he says, his voice a bit strained. Shimizu starts to feel bad for saying the wrong thing, guilt nestling behind her ribs. “No, no, Shi— don’t you feel sorry for stating a fact. I see it on your face, the way you’re itching to apologize.”

“But you seem hurt.”

“The only thing that’s hurt is going to be my ass if Daichi catches me red-handed.” Suga spares her a small smile.

She takes a deep breath before nodding at him to continue. It must be all the stress catching up, normally such things wouldn’t catch her off guard. She straightens her back and raises her chin.

“You get the picture,” Suga continues, completely unbothered now. “Daichi and I are standing in a godforsaken alley, where not even stray cats would hear me shout for help. And he comes up to me, brows furrowed and a frown on his face, and says ‘Are you gay?’.”

Kiyoko needs to put a hand on her mouth to keep herself from bursting out laughing. Suga doesn’t have the composure and almost throws himself off the counter. His laughter is loud and really pleasant to hear.

“And… I was baffled, cause that was the last thing I was expecting of him,” he adds in between cracks of laughter, “And, like, he suddenly didn’t seem malicious at all. He was like a lost puppy or something.”

“Suga...”

“What?”

“What was your answer?”

Suga’s eyebrows lift and his eyes blink a few times. He puts his hand underneath his chin and peers at Kiyoko. He’s holding back a smirk, there’s no other way.

“I told him that I had to know if he was stinky.”

“No…” She stares at him, her mouth gaping. Sometimes she forgets how bold Suga can be.

“Yes. I was seven years old and had the guts to do that.” He winks and stretches his arms.

“The guts to do what exactly?”

They both turn to the backroom, where Daichi stands in the flesh. He looks at them with a meaningful gleam in his eyes, his arms crossed on his chest. He takes up the entire door frame, a black T-shirt wraps around his broad shoulders.

Kiyoko shifts her gaze to Suga, who stares at Daichi wide-eyed.

“How did you get there?” Suga asks.

“You gave me the key to the backdoor, Suga. Weeks ago.” Daichi heads up to Suga and shakes his head. “I told you not to sit on the counter.”

Suga baffles his eyelashes at him, earning a tired sigh.

“Oikawa is a very bad influence on you,” Daichi admits. “What were you talking about? Shimizu?”

Kiyoko jumps up, not expecting the question to be aimed at her. Suga peeks at her above Daichi’s head, silently begging her not to give him away. And she’s too weak when it comes to Suga.

“Hello to you, too, Sawamura,” she says, waving at him.

“Oh, hi.” Daichi turns to face her as Suga slides off the counter. “You can call me Daichi, too, you know. We’ve known each other for so long.”

“It feels weird, somehow. But thanks.” She stands up and fluffs the pillows, leaving them just as if she’s never sat there. “I’m going to prepare the needles and jewelry for today. I’ll be in the back.”

She slips into her room snuggled behind the front one. It grants her some privacy, shields her from direct contact with anyone but her customers. She prefers to leave Suga on the first line, enjoying the comfort of her own little space.

It isn’t spacious in any way, it barely fits a bed, the drawer where Kiyoko stores all the equipment and an armchair. Not that she gets to sit in it for a long time between piercing, cleaning and comforting people who don’t take it well. She’s used to grown men crying and fainting on the bed. An inherent part of their job, as Suga likes to claim.

There’s a mirror dangling from the wall where customers can look at their piercing right after she’s done it. The skin is usually swollen and red, the jewelry standing out. People tend to say that it didn’t hurt as much as they’d thought, but Kiyoko doesn’t miss the flinch of pain when she pulls a needle through their flesh.

Her hand finds her ear, feeling the earrings. They fill up every piece of tissue, not leaving any room for additional ones. She savors the pull of metal, the jingle of chains. When Suga suggested getting some to be more believable, he couldn't have meant that much. Maybe she needed them more than she admits to.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, Shimizu, I’m heading out to get coffee, “ Suga announces, sticking his head through a crack between the door and the door frame. “Do you want some?”

His hair falls into his face. It’s gotten longer than in high school, but Suga refuses to cut it or tie it up. Just as if he likes never seeing anything.

“Yes, please,” Kiyoko says, searching for the disinfectant in a draw. “Thank you.”

“Want me to ask the kid to make it stronger?”

Kiyoko is aware of the person Suga’s talking about. The green-haired boy who always smiles like he’s just heard the funniest joke and drops one third of the things that wind up in his hands.

“He and I have a deal, so just tell him the coffee’s for me,” she instructs him. “And don’t startle him or he will spill everything.”

“You sound like a mother, Shimizu.” Suga laughs, leaning against the door. Kiyoko sends him a glare. “Okay, okay, a responsible adult. Better?”

A familiar warmth spreads from her heart. The normalcy of being at work, getting coffee and having small conversations with Suga and Daichi put her head in the right place. They’ve stuck together since high school, since a semi-successful volleyball club that fell apart after their second year. Suga’s face is one that brings calm to her nerves, Daichi’s posture is a safe shield no one could breach.

“Take the coffee as a thank you,” Suga says and sticks out his tongue. A moment later he’s gone behind the closed door, only a faint smell of his perfume left.

Oikawa really is a bad influence. Kiyoko thinks about how much Suga’s changed because of him, how he picked up some of his habits and taunts. She doesn't mind the different behavior, the bickering between Suga and Daichi is actually amusing. She hasn’t seen Suga truly sad ever since he started hanging out with Oikawa, so she lets everything else slide.

But she’s not going to let go of the story. She’s going to bug Suga until he gives in and spills everything.

***

Kiyoko’s apartment is a void of silence and stale air.

Being alone is not a challenge, but there are times when she wishes she could open her mouth to someone. Her TV buzzes despite being turned off, drops of water fall from the tap in the kitchen. It’s quiet and peaceful, not exactly what Kiyoko wants the place to be.

She forgot all her hobbies, put them in a closet and locked the door. The time is never right to try and open it, letting everything fall at her feet. And now she has nothing to do, nothing to want and nothing to occupy her mind. She wonders what Suga is doing right now, if he’s meeting Oikawa and if he's making her friend happy. She hopes he does.

Daichi must be busy, too, doing college assignments or writing some papers. He’s way too ambitious to just live day by day, without securing his future. He works only part-time, coming to the studio when he’s free of other commitments. That makes him a decent tattoo artist and a decent piercer, but nowhere near as good as Suga and Kiyoko. He doesn’t seem to care as long as he gets to help them.

Kiyoko peeks out the window, holding the bland curtains in her hands. The sun is setting, hanging low above the city. Her arms are heavy, just like her legs. They’re pulling her to the ground, begging to let them rest. The day is over for her, nothing more needs to be done, but the realisation doesn’t put her mind at ease. She longs for something, anything, but instead is left with aching limbs, sitting on the floor, staring at the opposite wall.

She spends an unhealthy amount of time like that, not wanting to sleep, but not wanting to stay awake either. Darkness slowly takes over her living room, the only source of light being street lights from outside.

It’s silent until it isn’t.

The knock on the door is timid but it’s there. Kiyoko scrambles from the floor, stretching her legs as she blinks to catch focus. A moment of silence follows and she considers not answering the door and blaming it on tiredness.

“I’m coming,” she says, though, not sure the message reaches the other side of the door.

When she gets there, there’s a girl standing awkwardly behind her doorstep.

“Uhm, hi!” she shouts, waving her hand in the air. “Hi,” she repeats in a hushed tone, her face blooming with embarrassment.

She looks about to flee, tapping her foot on the ground. She’s holding a bowl of cookies in one hand, hiding the other one behind her back.

“Hi,” Kiyoko replies, taking a better look at the girl.

She’s dressed nicely, like a salesperson or someone like that. She’s wearing a white shirt tucked inside brown dress pants, no sign of jewelry whatsoever. Her blond hair reaches her hunched shoulders, a blue tie wrapped around a small ponytail hanging on the side of her face.

“I— um, have just moved to an apartment on this floor,” she says, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I wanted to— to come by and say hi!”

Her breath comes in labored wheezes, her mouth twisted into a forced smile. It’s as if she’d rather be anywhere else, not standing in front of Kiyoko, putting up an act she doesn’t believe in herself.

And Kiyoko doesn’t care about that, or at least doesn’t care enough to do something. The girl’s trying to be friendly, to get to know everyone. That itself is more than Kiyoko has ever put into being a neighbor. She can’t remember one name of a person living on her floor, one single thing about them. What she remembers is that she saw a person earlier that didn’t fit the picture.

“Were you moving in today?” she asks her, leaning against the door frame. “I thought I saw someone but didn’t get to take a good look.”

The girl nods her head.

“That— that was probably me. I had to run back and forth to the car to bring everything inside,” she admits, the smile never leaving her face.

Kiyoko’d rather she didn’t force herself. It’s painful to watch, the struggle to keep up a good look. There’s a tremble in her hand, and she’s doing a poor job trying to hide it. Her cookies are almost flying all over the bowl.

“That’s a shame I had to hurry to get to work, otherwise I would’ve helped you.”

“Oh no, no, really,” she says, “I can’t count on people to do everything for me, right?”

Kiyoko sighs. She wants to cut the conversation short, if not for her own then for the girl’s sake. She can’t just tell her to go away, though, that would send her into a mental breakdown in the middle of the hall. And, really, what else is there to do for Kiyoko? She was going to mope on the floor until the sun rises again.

“If you say so.” Kiyoko eyes her, noticing her biting her lower lip. “But if you need anything, you can always come over to me. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

The girl’s expression shifts, morphing into something like… relief? Kiyoko isn’t sure about that, maybe she’s imagining things, but she hears a slow exhale.

“Thank you,” the girl says, her posture relaxing a little. “I really appreciate the gesture. I think I might need some help with, eh — with stuff.”

Her eyes aren’t quite meeting Kiyoko’s. They’re wandering all over the wall behind her, the doors leading to other apartments, carpeted floors. Anywhere but Kiyoko.

And she gets it, at least to a certain point. This whole situation must be scary, meeting all those new people, engaging in small talk that leads nowhere. But if it’s straining the girl’s nerves that much, why is she doing that? Their neighbors won’t remember her tomorrow, living their lives just the same.

“You know, those cookies you have there look really good,” Kiyoko adds, pointing to the bowl. “Are they for…”

“Yes, they’re for you!” she exclaims, holding them out. “I mean, they’re for all neighbors, but you can have as many as you want, since you’re so nice to me.”

A shadow of a smile creeps onto her face, a genuine one this time. It lights up her face, her eyes squint and her face finally turns to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko doesn’t have it in her to decline.

“You’re the one being nice,” she says. Maybe actually knowing one of her neighbors won’t hurt her, even if they’ll only exchange polite good mornings from time to time. “Since the day I moved in, I haven’t had a conversation with any of the people living here. Except for you.” She sends the girl a sheepish smile.

“Oh, so maybe I shouldn’t go…”

“No, don’t take me as a good example, please,” Kiyoko interupts her, scratching the back of her head. “I’m not very social, but you should try to get to know them.” She notices the little twitch on the girl’s face and adds, “Only if you want to, of course. Don’t force yourself.”

“Here,” the girl says, dodging Kiyoko’s words. She shakes the bowl, trying to draw Kiyoko’s attention to the cookies. “I— I gotta go. I still have a few apartments to visit.”

Kiyoko takes two cookies out of courtesy. She’s not a big fan of sweets, but saying it out loud would be cold of her. She offers the girl a smile and a nod of her head.

“Oh gods, I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?” The girl laughs awkwardly and puts her free hand on top of her mouth. She takes a long breath, closes her eyes, and when she opens them, her arm hangs between her and Kiyoko. “My name is Hitoka Yachi. Sorry.”

Kiyoko shakes her head. There’s something endearing in the way Yachi stumbles over words and forgets the most important part of an introduction.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Yachi,” she says, trying out the new name. It falls nicely from her mouth, the sound echoing down the hall. “It’s Kiyoko Shimizu, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

When they shake hands, Yachi’s palm is sweaty. All that stress must’ve truly gotten to her. She reminds Kiyoko of a child lost in a supermarket, only in her case there’s no adult coming to get her. Kiyoko shudders at the thought that Yachi might be left all alone in her apartment, solely on her own.

But Kiyoko has no right to do anything about it, to even ask. There is nothing more to say between them, so Yachi leaves her on her doorstep. Kiyoko watches her go, tightening her grip on the cookies. When she lowers her gaze on them, they are crushed to pieces.


	2. Third

Kiyoko’s day is just fine and nothing more than that.

She’s used to having fine days, days that melt into one and blur into weeks. They all happen to be similar, similar in a sense that there’s nothing worth remembering. They simply are, they pass and then the next day rises and it all takes place again. But it’s fine with her, it’s what she’s decided would be good for her.

That doesn’t make the grip on her gut disappear.

She goes to work as usual, pushing away the memories of that guy on the train. There’s nothing to overstress about, nothing to bother her head with. He’s long gone, shelved in her mind between every other person who’s tried something alike. But even with the scene left in the past, her emotions are bubbling in the present.

Her ride is peaceful, but that doesn’t stop her from looking around nervously, looking for someone specific. She remembers his bleached hair and the tongue piercing, the sense of fear washing over her. She wants to be prepared, ready to flee if she needs to. His promise rings in her ears — ‘Gonna see you here later, right?’. It didn’t seem serious at the time, but now the mere thought of him makes something twist in Kiyoko’s stomach.

He’s not here, she tells herself. No need to be so tense, he couldn’t have meant what he said. Probably he made it a habit, calling out for girls he found pretty. She’s not the first one and she won’t be the last.

It’s even worse, when you put it like that.

She gets off the train, pushing through hordes of people, most of them dressed in tight suits. She notes to herself to thank Suga for their casual dress code. Her outfits are comfortable and decent at best, but fashion is far from her field of interest. She hasn’t heard a customer complain about her wearing a hoodie. Besides, Suga would make sure the customer knew they had no say in Kiyoko’s appearance.

Her feet take her to the cafe, almost against her will. It’s still early, but she had nothing to do besides sit around her apartment. Suga shouldn’t be at the studio yet and she doesn't fancy sitting there by herself. At the end of the day, it’s the same thing.

“Welcome to— oh, hi, it’s you,” the barista says, raising a paper cup he’s holding in his hand.

He’s standing behind the counter, towering above it. Despite his height, intimidating is the last word Kiyoko would use to describe him. His half-green, half-platinum hair is tied in a messy bun, secured with a few bobby pins. Their color matches his piercings, something that Kiyoko had used to do before she stopped caring. She wears any piece of jewelry that catches her eye, never mind that it clashes with the rest of her appearance.

“Hello, Yamaguchi,” she replies, making her way to him. “I thought I’d come by and kill some time here… Is that okay?”

She prefers to ask him, even if she’s a customer and he technically can’t say no. The cafe is empty, no sight of people apart from the two of them. The last thing she’d want to do is to make Yamaguchi uncomfortable with her presence.

“No, no, it’s fine. I like having someone to open my mouth to,” he admits, attempting to put down the cup. It falls from his fingers, landing on the counter and knocking over a tower of cups standing to the side. “God, why does it happen to me all the time.”

Kiyoko holds down a chuckle, seeing Yamaguchi struggle to put them back together. He closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists. He mutters something under his breath and then his eyes spring open, a tired smile on his face.

“I’m honestly surprised they haven’t fired me yet.” He picks up some of the cups, putting them on top of each other. “With the amount of stuff I’ve managed to break, I should’ve been out of here months ago.”

“You make the best coffee.”

“Please, don’t say that around Hinata or he’ll take it as a challenge,” he pleads, referring to the other barista. Kiyoko looks around, trying to find him somewhere, but fails. “He’s not coming today. He called in sick earlier, but he seemed fine just yesterday.”

“Then I can say it all I want.”

He sighs, his mouth stretching into a thin line. The nervousness is pretty much gone from his expression, only a little twitch of his eye indicates something might still be wrong.

Kiyoko doesn’t think twice before asking, “Does this bother you that much?”

He nods slowly. His shoulders slump as he fiddles with his fingers. “Well, it’s just a matter of time. They will fire me. That’s what they should do, at least.”

She hums, catching his attention. The feeling in her chest commands her to make things better, cheer Yamaguchi up. She’s not responsible for this, but her head finds her guilty anyway. She decided to come here, to startle the kid, and now he’s doubting himself.

“Hey, don’t say that,” she says and, seeing him try to interject, continues. “You’re too good at this to get rid of you so easily. Even if sometimes things fly out of your hands, it doesn’t change the fact that you make good coffee. Brilliant coffee.”

“You really mean it?”

“Why would I give you free piercings if I didn’t have a reason to bribe you?”

He laughs, the light sound echoes through the cafe. Kiyoko only now realizes there’s no music blasting from the speakers in the corners, an unusual occurrence. She’s never thought this place could be silent, with all the screaming from Hinata and customers talking over themselves. But right now she hears none of those and actually enjoys the calm. Yamaguchi, on the other hand, appears to not be so fond of it.

“It’s so calm without Hinata running around.” He glances at the door like he expects Hinata to waltz in at any moment. “He handles people way better than me, without even realizing. He flashes a smile and boom, another customer ends up buying three cupcakes and the most expensive coffee on the menu even if they only wanted an espresso.”

“He’s a lot to take in,” Kiyoko admits, earning a nod from Yamaguchi, “but that’s how he is everywhere, not only here. Right?”

“Yeah, ever since I met him, it seems like he’s been non-stop jumping up and down. I wonder where he takes all that energy from.”

“My boss can be like that sometimes,” Kiyoko says, “Not all the time, but there are moments when I have to remind myself that he’s a twenty years old man, not a kid playing in the sand.”

Yamaguchi squints, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Is your boss the guy who ordered coffee yesterday claiming to be you?”

What? Did Suga really… well, it doesn’t seem too impossible. Suga certainly is the type to do something like that, especially with all the courage he’s gotten from Oikawa. It’s almost like Oikawa radiates bravery and some of it sticks to Suga for hours after they part. Nothing bad about that, Kiyoko guesses. Suga’s happier and it shows in the way his eyes light up when Oikawa is around, the way his steps are so soft he looks like he’s floating just above the ground.

“I told him to mention the coffee was for me, but— I didn’t think he would…” She falls silent for a moment to gather her thoughts. “What did he do exactly?”

“Not much. I mean, he did introduce himself as you, Shimizu. And claimed to have changed his hairstyle when I said he didn’t look anything like you.”

“Yeah, sounds like him.” She puts her hand on top of the counter, leaning against it. “I hope he didn’t try anything stupid. Besides that.”

“No, if anything he was… he was nice.”

That sounds like Suga, too. Nice is a small word, not conveying even a part of what Suga is, but it’s enough to get a sense of how his personality works. Kiyoko imagines him trying to make a joke and failing miserably. She sees it before her eyes, how Suga's expresion falls, how his eyes fill with worry, how he tries to make things better before they get a chance to become bad.

She assumes Yamaguchi got a taste of that.

“Are you friends?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “You don’t have to tell me, of course. I was just— I was wondering, since you talk about each other so freely and…”

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. You can ask me whatever you want. If I don’t like the question, I will tell you, I promise.”

It’s a promise Kiyoko would like everyone she cares about to make. She’d hate to cross their boundaries, hate to be the one who makes them feel uncomfortable. She wonders whether people have already forgotten what it means to be treated with respect. Yamaguchi for sure has.

“Oh, thank you. I was afraid I got ahead of myself.” He sighs. His hands find their way to rest on the counter.

“Answering your question,” Kiyoko continues, not dwelling on Yamaguchi’s anxious state, “we’ve known each other for quite a few years now. Everybody who works at the studio went to the same high school.”

“It must be nice to keep in contact for so long,” Yamaguchi says, some sort of sadness lacing his voice. He shakes his head, bringing a smile to his face. “What can I get you? You probably haven’t eaten anything, have you?”

For someone who used to do sports, Kiyoko doesn’t have the best eating habits. She sprints out her door without breakfast every morning, hoping to have some time to grab something from the cafe. Sometimes Suga and Daichi give her some of their food, just to make her feel obliged to make her lunch for the next day and share it with them. It works, but only for a day. Then she forgets it again and the cycle continues.

Living by herself is enough effort. Making meals everyday would feel like too much.

“No, I haven’t. I’m glad I came here, then.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Doesn’t need her to order, either. After months of her always getting the same thing, he must know it by heart.

He gets to work, followed by Kiyoko’s gaze. She likes to observe people doing what they’re good at, even if she hasn't a clue what’s going on. Steam gushes from the coffee machine, a strong smell filling the air. Kiyoko wonders if Yamaguchi smells of coffee when he gets off work and gets on with his life. It’s a soothing image, his clumsy hands never losing their scent, never forgetting what they’re used to doing.

He puts the coffee in front of her, a macchiato with an espresso shot. She’s sure it’s just perfect, expects nothing less from it. Yamaguchi reaches into the display case and pulls out a sandwich. He sets it on a plate next to the paper cup.

“Here. Eat up, neither I nor your boss would want you to pass out halfway through the day.”

It should be weird, the fact that a barista from a nearby cafe cares about her well-being more than her parents. His presence is easy, talking to him is easy.

“Thanks.”

She sits in the bar stool, resting her elbows on both sides of the plate.

A silence of sorts falls over them as Kiyoko slowly finishes her food. They could break it whenever they want, but it feels right to let it wash over them. Yamaguchi wipes the counter, humming a song under his breath. He has a pleasant voice, one that could lull you to sleep, but could keep you awake with everything he has to say.

The door opens, letting cold air inside. Kiyoko shifts in her seat.

“Hi there,” a familiar voice says.

“Shimizu,” Yamaguchi responds and it takes Kiyoko a moment to realize he’s not talking to her.

She turns over her shoulder. Suga is standing mid-way to the counter, his silver hair hidden beneath a warm hat, his nose tucked into his matching scarf.

“None of that, please. One Shimizu is all we need,” he says.

“Just admit you wanted to abuse my discount, Suga.”

“You got me.”

Suga’s smile is barely visible from underneath all the layers, but Kiyoko knows it’s there. He untagles his scarf from his neck and stuffs it in his bag. His hat stays on his head, out of place but somehow fitting him.

“I was walking by and I saw you here, so I thought I’d come in. You know, to be a decent person and say hi. Hi, you’re Yamaguchi, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi screeches, “Yeah, that’s me.” His tone sounds a bit panicked, like he didn’t expect Suga to actually know who he is. There’s a chance he enjoys fading into the background, letting Hinata handle as much human contact as possible.

That’s an attitude Kiyoko relates to on too many levels to admit it out loud.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I knew how freaked out that’d make you,” Suga says, walking up to them. He takes his seat next to Kiyoko, letting his hat fall onto the counter. “Believe it or not, but I don’t like to scare people on a daily basis.”

“What about that time you stalked Sawamura until he had to confront you about it?”

“That’s what you call youthful mistakes.”

“Oh, so that’s what we call it now.”

Suga nods his head as if Kiyoko asked him a question, not made a statement.

“Hey, can I get you something?” Yamaguchi cuts into the conversation, gaining Suga’s attention. “You… uhm—”

“Suga. You can call me Suga. I didn’t introduce myself yesterday, did I?” Suga offers him his best reassuring smile, which Yamaguchi tries and fails to return. It feels hesitant.

“Suga,” he repeats, “okay, I think I’ll remember.”

Suga is far too considerate to stretch out his arm and demand a handshake. People like Yamaguchi get pressured easily, not finding it in themselves to say no. The mere thought of declining must feel like needles piercing through his palms. That’s how it feels to Kiyoko.

“You know what, I would kill for a latte right now,” Suga says. He tilts his head and, with his elbows on the counter, rests it on his hands. He’s picked that up from Oikawa, who does the exact same thing when he drops by the studio.

“One latte. I got it,” Yamaguchi notes to himself, turning around. He smooths out his apron and gets to work. 

Kiyoko’s eyes follow him around the cafe and she hopes he doesn’t mind.

After a moment, he places the drink in front of Suga. He hooks his hands behind his back like a child waiting for his parents to praise him. Knowing Suga, he will tell something nice just to brighten Yamaguchi’s mood.

“Thank you.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes in delight.

Yamaguchi lets a shaky breath pass his lips, relaxing his posture. It must be because Suga is a friend of Kiyoko’s. All that nervousness has to come from somewhere, to be caused by something. In her case it’s new people, which is ironic considering her job. She has a few returning customers who help her through the days, but apart from them, it’s a new person every appointment.

And some of them aren’t pleasant. Guys come in like they own the place, like they can demand anything of her just because they pay for a fraction of her time. She makes a habit of reminding them that she’s the one in power, holding a piercing needle to their skin and watching them squirm.

It’s satisfying, to say the least. Grown up men tearing up over pieces of metal put in their ear or nose at their own request. She doesn’t bother to comfort them, either before or after.

But there are those who make it worth putting up with all that. Boys who clench their teeth and make weird faces, trying to convince her they don’t feel any pain. Girls who have no idea what piercing they want to get until she recommends them one of her favourites. Couples coming together to hold each other’s hand, filling her room with laughter and the sound of light pecks left on cheeks and foreheads.

It’s definitely worth it.

“It’s great, just like yesterday,” Suga says and grins at Yamaguchi. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, so I had to buy another one to make it more believable.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yamaguchi waves his hand in the air, dismissing the compliment. There’s a shadow of pink on his cheeks, though it could be mistaken for his freckles.

“Nah, not nothing.”

“I told you, you make the best coffee,” Kiyoko says.

“And I told you that it isn’t a good idea to say it around my coworker.” Yamaguchi answers in a hushed tone.

“I don’t see Hinata here,” Suga is the one to state the obvious. They both glare at him. “What? He isn’t hiding under there, right?” He leans over the counter, trying to find Hinata.

“No, something came up and he couldn’t come today.” Yamaguchi says. “It’s a weekday, so there shouldn’t be a crowd. I can handle it by myself”

“Are you friends with him?” Suga asks out of the blue.

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen. “Am I—”

“Come on, Suga. You said you didn’t enjoy startling people.” Kiyoko interferes.

If it’s not something Yamaguchi wants to share with them, she wants him to know he doesn’t have to. Just the same thing he did for her earlier.

“I mean, you answered when I asked you about… him,” Yamaguchi says hesitantly, gesturing to Suga. “But I guess you could call us friends.”

“About me?” Suga’s face livens up, a smirk on his lips. “Who am I to you, Shimizu? Did you expose all our dirty little secrets?”

“It sounds really inappropriate when you put it like that,” she responds, sparing him the coldest look she can muster. “But… sure, I told Yamaguchi we were friends. Did I get that wrong?”

“No, no, of course not. We are friends, have been since high school,” Suga confirms without missing a beat. “Having established that, we should probably head out, Shimizu. We’re opening soon.”

“Really?” she asks, looking for a clock on one of the walls. She finds nothing but a few posters. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon, I think,” Yamaguchi says, scratching his neck. “It’s the least busy hour here. If not for you, I would be sitting here alone.”

It kinda sounds like a plea, like he wants her to stay. She smiles at him, slipping from the stool and flattening her loose pants. She pulls out her wallet from her bag and leaves the exact amount of money next to her empty plate. 

“I’ll make sure to drop by for coffee tomorrow.”

Yamaguchi nods and reaches for the bills. For a good minute nothing else happens, an awkward silence filling the place as Yamaguchi glances from Kiyoko to Suga.

Kiyoko elbows Suga and looks at him like she’s trying to drill a hole through his head.

“I didn’t forget to pay. I was just lost in thought,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. “Don’t give me that look, I feel like we’re back in high school and you’re scolding me for calling Asahi Ashley again.”

He hands Yamaguchi some bills, muttering a faint ‘sorry’. He takes it with a troubled expression, but doesn’t comment on anything.

Kiyoko and Suga say their goodbyes and head to the door. Kiyoko grabs the handle, when she hears Suga whisper not-so-confidentially, “Say, what do I have to do to get a discount like hers?”

***

Kiyoko’s thoughts revolve around getting to her bed and not leaving it for hours.

It was one of the busiest days this month. She barely got a chance to sit down and drink some water between appointments, to relax her muscles and loosen up. Not a minute passed by and a new customer was peeking to her room, asking if she was ready for them.

She was. She always is.

Her legs don’t cooperate with her wishes sometimes. There are times when she thinks they might give out on her, refuse to support her any longer. Today is one of those days.

Her parents brought her up to be as hardworking as possible, diligent to the point of breaking. They didn’t mean it like that, at least not her mother. Kiyoko is sure she’d only wanted her best, even forgetting about her own well-being for the sake of her daughter.

Kiyoko’s already forgotten when was the last time she called her. Months ago? They parted on good terms, but Kiyoko isn’t the type to miss people. Her mom clearly doesn’t mind, because she hasn’t reached out either.

The few things Kiyoko wants to tell them are completely irrelevant now. Maybe there was a time when her words would’ve meant something, would’ve made a difference. They’re a pang in her heart, now, a wound that didn’t heal right. It’s taken years to cover it with bandages tight enough to keep it sealed, so ripping it open has no use. Not to Kiyoko.

She gets home in a daze, like she’s on auto-pilot. Her arms are heavy, her legs barely lift above the ground. She opens the door to her complex, leaning against it to steady herself.

“Shit, shit— oh god!” The voice is accompanied by a loud thud. It comes from her floor. What the hell happened?

Kiyoko reaches the source of the noise in no time, feeling the tiredness leave her body. She jumps two stairs at a time just to be met with a miserable image of Yachi standing in the middle of the hall, a huge carton box sprawled at her feet.

“Is everything okay?” she asks on instinct, taking in the scene.

Yachi keeps her head down. Her arms are in the air where the box must’ve been just a moment ago. “Not my coffee table,” she answers, pointing to the pack on the ground.

“It didn’t fall on your feet, did it?” Kiyoko has to make sure, even if Yachi seems fine.

“No, no, I would’ve felt it, right?” Yachi says, not lifting her head. Kiyoko chuckles, which makes Yachi finally look at her. “I— I mean, uhm… I’m good. Nothing terrible happened.”

“Were you trying to move that by yourself?”

“I— I didn’t think it would be heavy,” Yachi admits, “Like, not that heavy.”

She’s gasping for air, Kiyoko realizes. She’s halfway through to her apartment, so it means she’s managed to climb the stairs with that monstrosity in her arms. Her hair falls onto her back in a ponytail, a bright red clip securing her bangs. Beads of sweat stream down her face.

“They told me to be careful, but I just assumed that… eh— they were exaggerating because I’m a girl, and—” She takes a deep breath and entwines her hands in front of her. “Sorry, Shimizu. Because that’s how you introduced yourself yesterday— or you didn’t and I got that wrong.”

Kiyoko forces a reassuring smile on her lips. Yachi tries to reciprocate, but ends up hiding her smile behind a chuckle and a fist raised to her mouth.

“No, you got it just right,” Kiyoko says, “And you’re Yachi. I think.”

No, Kiyoko is sure of that, but she feels like that’s the appropriate thing to say. Yachi could find some relief in fact that she’s not the only one who kind of forgot the other’s name. She was probably flooded with their neighbors’ names and faces, so it’s normal for her to hesitate. And Kiyoko isn’t anyone special among them, just a girl nice enough to maintain a simple conversation with Yachi.

“Yes, yes, I’m Yachi, I’m surprised you actually remembered!” She squeals. A faint blush creeps onto her cheeks as she turns her head, hiding her face in her hands. “Yeah, so… uhm, I think that’s it. Thank you for your concern, but you can see for yourself that I’m fine so— so, you can go on. I’ll manage.”

“No doubt. If you don’t want any help with that—” Kiyoko points to the box.” I won’t insist.”

Yachi is an adult, isn’t she? She must be to live on her own, rent an apartment and handle furnishing it by herself. Did she…? No, Kiyoko refuses to think that her situation might be anything like that. She must have moved here for university. It’s a great place to commute from, not too far from the city center to inconvenience, but not too close to cost a fortune.

“Yeah, I’ve already gotten this far, what’s a few steps more?” Yachi brightens up. It’s like she got so happy just because Kiyoko didn’t undermine her.

“Alright.” Kiyoko nods her head. That’s enough social interactions for today. She silently begged Yachi to decline her offer. Not specifically because of her, but because of Kiyoko’s fatigue that is starting to catch up to her. “Have a good day, then.”

“Ah! You too, Shimizu. Gonna see you around.” Yachi offers her a shy smile and crouches down to figure out a way to lift the carton box. 

From Yachi’s mouth it doesn’t sound anything like a threat. It’s a simple promise to not be a stranger in the future, to remember Kiyoko’s name.

Kiyoko’s surprisingly okay with that.


End file.
